


A Single Wavering Reflection

by Not_You



Series: Multiplicity [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bottom Hannibal, Child Death, Dating, Deepthroating, Frottage, Getting to Know Each Other, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Held Down, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multiple Personalities, Mutual Masturbation, Needles, Past Child Abuse, age business rather than ageplay, except for that one time, hannibal's horrible origin story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 21,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The early days of Will's relationship with Hannibal & co.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The thing about life-changing events is that they so often seem innocuous. Will is just standing in the produce section with a dumb look on his face, trying to remember whether Beverly's mother needs bok choy or napa cabbage. He could just call Beverly, but she tends to get drafted into helping her mother, and things had already sounded pretty frenetic when she called him an hour ago. He's on his way to her mother's house for dinner, still not sure if she keeps inviting him because he looks hungry, or because Beverly still isn't married and she's getting a little desperate. Either way, Will grimaces at the choice before him.

"Excuse me," a man behind him says, English strongly accented with something Scandinavian or Eastern European. His voice is a polite rumble, like a big cat's purr. Will is struck by it even as he shuffles out of the stranger's way without looking at him.

"Oh," Will mutters, "sorry." He's staring down at his shoes, and at all the scuffs that he keeps meaning to do something about.

"Thank you," the man says, and starts examining heads of napa cabbage, lifting and turning them with the kind of elegant, capable hands that make Will risk a sidelong glance at their owner. He's tall and very thin in that deadly, muscular way, less of a beanpole and more of a goddamn wolf.

"You seem to be having difficulty making your own selection," he says. He doesn't look up, and for this Will is profoundly grateful. "May I be of any assistance?"

Sure, being social makes Will nervous, so unsolicited conversation isn't his favorite thing, but this is helpful. "...Uh, yeah," he mutters, feeling like a sullen teenager caught flatfooted. "I'm supposed to bring one or the other to a dinner party." He risks a glance at the man's face, which is weirdly affable despite its severity of line, and the man favors him with the kind of slow, warm smile that makes Will wonder if he's being cruised. His eyes are like that almost-red Baltic amber, and Will doesn't dare look longer than it takes to ascertain that.

"What sort of dish is your contribution intended for?" He sounds genuinely interested, and Will sincerely hopes that he's the good kind of foodie.

"A Korean soup I can't pronounce," Will says. "Soybean paste and anchovy broth are involved, though."

"Baechu doenjang guk?" the man inquires, saying it almost like Mrs. Katz does.

"That's the one," Will says, embarrassed at his own relief. The man smiles at him, eyes bright.

"In that case," he says, "I believe this one will answer." He offers Will a fat, glossy cabbage, and Will accepts it with both hands. "The inner leaves are the best for the purpose, and this one will have more of them."

"Thank you," Will says, trying not to actually squirm. The man's smile widens, and now Will knows he's being cruised.

"It's forward of me to say," he says, "but you really are adorable."

Will does blush then, he can feel the heat in his face. "Good to know I haven't lost my touch," he mutters, and the man laughs.

"Not a bit of it," he agrees. "I won't detain you, but may I have your number?"

"...What if I'm straight?"

"Then I'll shed a tear for your beauty and we can see about being friends," he says, and Will has to smile.

"Well. I'm not, anyway," he says, "though I don't give my number to people whose names I don't know."

"Of course not," he says, and offers his hand. "Hannibal Lecter."

"Like the guy with the elephants?" Will asks, shaking his hand. 

Hannibal grins. "Yes, like the guy with the elephants. Who are you named for?"

"Technically nobody, but take your pick, I'm a Will. Will Graham."

Hannibal chuckles, and lets go of Will's hand at last to bring out his phone. Will enters himself into the contacts as Cabbage Boy and flees, since Mrs. Katz is already having to hold soup production until his arrival. 

For the rest of the drive to his destination, Will wonders what in the hell he was thinking, but he has to set that line of inquiry aside to deal with the Katz clan. He does like them, there are just so many of them, especially in a small space. Mrs. Katz greets him with a big hug, and three tiny niblings latch onto his legs before Beverly can wade through the horde to clap Will on the shoulder and claim the cabbage.

"You look good," she says, "is that the shirt Jimmy gave you?"

"It is." He hands her the cabbage. "Did he sprinkle pheromones on it? I almost got picked up at the grocery store."

Beverly laughs, and goes back to the kitchen as her dear sweet clueless mother teases Will about all the girls chasing him around. She'd probably be cool if he explained that he's bi and that women tend to like him less than men do, but Will just doesn't want to get into it. He lets her tease without correcting her, consoled by delicious Korean food.

It's only after dinner, when Beverly has dragged him onto the porch for privacy, that he has to give a full report. Beverly takes her duties as The Creepy Guy's One Friend very seriously, and always debriefs Will about any prospect, however tenuous. They're both leaning on the porch railing, looking out over the lawn and the little kitchen garden carved out of one edge.

"So I can tell by the look you gave Mom that it's a dude," Beverly says, by way of opening the conversation, and Will laughs.

"Yes, yes it is. I ran into him over by the napa cabbage because I couldn't remember if I was getting that or bok choy."

Beverly laughs at him, of course, but as Will does his best to describe Hannibal, he can tell that she's fascinated by this mysterious and knowledgeable stranger. "You should absolutely call him," she says, after Will has finished his recital. "He knows food and thinks your grumpy little face is cute, these are both key."

"It's also key that I find him cute, and I guess I do. He's got one of those spooky hatchet faces. All cheekbones."

Beverly chuckles. "Sounds like he's got character, anyway."

"Yeah," Will says, and looks over at her to meet her eyes for just a moment. He's glad to see them clear and healthy, and Beverly smiles like she's reading his mind.

"No burst veins or jaundice?"

"No," he says, and looks out over the yard again, watching as the night's first fireflies blink into view.


	2. Chapter 2

Will has the next day off, and after he feeds the dogs and just makes some coffee for himself because he's still full from last night, he calls Hannibal. He has no idea what he's going to say, but Hannibal seems like a talkative guy. The phone rings for long enough that it makes Will even more nervous, and he's on the verge of hanging up when Hannibal answers. Well, maybe Hannibal. 

"H'lo?" the voice sounds about right, but it's soft and girlish. Shit, is this some undergrad Hannibal picked up like a huge creeper? A baby daughter? It's impossible to tell.

"Uh, Hannibal?"

There's a moment of silence, and then a rich, feline chuckle that seems much more like the man Will met in the produce section. "Will, good morning! I'm not quite awake yet, I stayed up too late."

"I'm kinda hungover on home cooking," Will tells him, and he laughs.

"Was the soup good?"

"Delicious. Mrs. Katz said the cabbage was just what she would have chosen. She's my friend's mother. They're Korean, they just have their grandpa's German last name."

"I'm always glad to please one who would know," he says.

"She's very particular," Will says, and then goes silent, feeling like an idiot.

"Poor darling, you are nervous, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Will mutters.

"There's no need. I am fully prepared to court you or not court you, whichever you prefer."

"...I haven't been on an actual date in... fuck. Two and a half years?"

"Would you like to change that?"

"...Sure."

Hannibal laughs again. "Very well. Will Graham, will you do me the honor of accompanying me to a piano bar tonight for drinks and overpriced nibbles?"

Will grins, relaxing a little. "I will, thank you."

The rest of the conversation is logistics, and after Will hangs up, he has more coffee and works up the will to inform Beverly. Beyond wanting to gratify her, she's big on personal safety and will want to know when to demand check-in texts. Given all the people she sees who have been left in dumpsters by their dates, Will understands her concern. As a criminologist, he shares it, and Beverly is usually the one to text him, from her own far more frequent dates. 

Now she just crows with delight and tells him not to wear his goddamn birth control glasses. Ever since she learned that he doesn't really need them, she always teases him about it. This time Will just rolls his eyes and promises to do his best, before hanging up to work on his lecture notes for a while. It's soothing, and of course the more of it is already done, the less fretting he'll do on his date. Well, fretting about that, anyway. He can feel himself blushing, sitting alone in his own house, and wonders when he'll stop feeling like a goddamn teenager disguised as an adult.

Since this is a first date, they're just going to meet at their destination, and Hannibal carefully describes his car and promises to arrive a bit in advance of his reservation. Will disgraces himself by actually breaking down and sending Beverly pictures of his clothing options.

 _red shirt._ she replies. _red is a power color and makes you look kinda pale and mysterious just do it._

With no other guidance, Will puts on the red shirt and black slacks, wondering if it's too dramatic or not. A black jacket helps, and he leaves both garments draped across the kitchen table as he makes sure that the dogs will be able to amuse themselves while he's gone. Once he's out of the immediate hair radius, he finishes dressing and heads out, hoping that he won't get lost.

He almost does a few times, but he's still able to pull into the parking lot of his destination right on time. For a moment he doesn't see Hannibal's car, but catches sight of it after another look, and walks over to find its owner sitting sideways in the driver's seat, the interior light switched off. He beams at the sight of Will and rises, shutting the door behind him. The streetlight reveals an actual three-piece suit in a weird windowpane check that he really shouldn't be able to get away with.

"Will, you look lovely," he says, leading the way up to the entrance.

"Uh, so do you?" Will mutters, because 'lovely' sounds so much more awkward on his tongue than Hannibal's. Hannibal just laughs.

"Thank you," he says, and holds the door for Will when they reach it. The gesture strikes Will as a bit precious, it but seems to come naturally. 

The interior is actually sort of elegant, a lot of dark wood and turn of the century styling, and the faint piano Will can hear from the hostess's station sounds promising. "The selections here are very diverse," Hannibal says, and the hostess agrees as she comes up to take Hannibal's name and then lead them back to their table. It's sized for two and tucked into a corner, but it isn't too conspicuously private, so Will guesses he'll survive. The hostess leaves them with the wine list and the promise that their server will be with them shortly.

"I'm admitting to you right now that I don't know much about wine," Will says, and Hannibal gives him such an admiring look that Will hopes he's not blushing.

"I really do love people with the courage to be honest about that," Hannibal says. "We can try a few kinds, if you like."

They end up trying four, going slowly and holding it down with a few of the more substantial menu items. Odd as Hannibal is, he turns out to be a fascinating conversationalist during the breaks, and has table manners so pretty that it makes Will feel like some unschooled rustic in a late Victorian novel. Hannibal doesn't seem to mind at all, though, and can translate and give context to the variety of operatic selections on the bill for tonight. It's not Will's usual thing, but he's having a surprisingly good time by last call. 

Walking back to Hannibal's car, agreeing to see him next weekend is about as automatic as breathing. When they stop, Hannibal just studies Will as he thanks him for inviting him, and then leans in and kisses his cheek. It's slow enough for Will to dodge if he wanted to, but he doesn't. Instead he puts a hand on Hannibal's shoulder and tilts his head to bring their lips together for just a moment. When he steps back, Hannibal is grinning from ear to ear, eyes almost fever-bright.

"Goodnight, Hannibal," he says, continuing to his own car.

"Goodnight, Will," Hannibal says, mouth still curled in a sweet and silly smile.


	3. Chapter 3

Will hasn't had a person he was regularly seeing for more than two years, but somehow Hannibal just fits into his life. He's a psychiatrist, but he doesn't use it on Will, so that's okay. He's probably the most laid-back mental health professional Will has ever met, and this far into a lifetime of being undiagnosably different, he would know. When Will cracks a joke about it, Hannibal laughs so hard that he coughs.

"I do my best," he says, still grinning. 

It's Will's turn to choose the venue for their date, so the two of them are wandering around a botanical garden because it's uncrowded shade on a hot day. Hannibal's contribution is his scintillating company and two travel mugs of the best mojito Will has ever tasted. Even with a cool drink and the shade of the trees, Will is down to an undershirt and jeans, button-down tied around his waist. Hannibal is of course still cool and crisp, every piece of clothing firmly in place as he discourses on flower symbolism across cultures.

"I've got to ask," Will says, after a short and very informative lecture on the chrysanthemum, "have you ever lived in Japan?"

Hannibal smiles. "No, but I was raised by my uncle and his Japanese wife, so the language was spoken around the house and cultural elements were important."

"I see," Will says, and laughs as Hannibal switches to fluent Japanese with no apparent effort. He feels like a dog, unsure what's being said, but enjoying the tone anyway.

"I told you that you are remarkably beautiful," Hannibal says, and Will rolls his eyes, feeling his face go hot. "You are, you know," he says more quietly, and Will pulls him into the shade of a weeping willow to kiss him into silence. 

Hannibal sighs into his mouth, and lingers over Will the way he always does, like he really is savoring something delicious. Will shivers and pulls away just enough to breathe, gazing into Hannibal's brown eyes where the lowering afternoon sun makes them almost shimmer. He wants to say something about how Hannibal is beautiful too, because he is in his strange, honed-knife kind of way. But Will isn't much good at saying that kind of thing, so he just kisses him again before pulling away for real, this time.

"Come on," he says, "I think I hear a goddamn field trip coming."

"You do," Hannibal says, and as they duck out from under the willow, they can see a gaggle of adolescents with notepads wandering up the path behind them. Hannibal chuckles, and ushers Will to the side and into another avenue of trees. He keeps his hand at the small of Will's back until they're well out of sight of the children, and then reaches lower to give his ass an affectionate squeeze.

"You're goddamn incorrigible, Dr. Lecter," Will tells him, and Hannibal laughs.

"For me the title lives at the office," he says. "I never feel much like a doctor outside."

"Must be the secret of your charm," Will tells him, letting Hannibal insinuate that big hand into his back pocket and keep it there as they walk. "I usually don't like doctors."

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his cheek, nuzzling into Will's stubble for a moment. "I'm delighted to be an exception to the rule," he murmurs, and then starts in on the symbolic history of the oak.

They manage to stay ahead of the students for the rest of their time in the garden, and Will feels a little drunk on the heat, and is glad that Hannibal is driving. Will dozes a little, and half-dreams as he watches Hannibal through his eyelashes, looking very upright and remote as he drives. Sort of professional, though more like a chauffeur or a contract killer is hard to say. Will brings himself fully awake by chuckling at that, and Hannibal smiles over at him.

"Good evening, Will," he says softly, and makes the last turn toward home. Will is glad that he remembers the route, having only been here once, earlier today.

"You wanna come in and meet the dogs?" Will asks, sitting up and cracking his neck.

"I would be delighted," Hannibal says, and it looks like he really would, though he hasn't said anything about it before. He pulls up to the house and gets out to open Will's door for him, one of those bizarre, courtly gestures that Will is just barely sure isn't a joke.

"Thanks," Will says, and walks up to the porch, finding the right key on the ring. "I don't tolerate bad manners, but there are seven of them," he says, and unlocks the doors. 

The dogs come barreling out, and are ecstatic to meet their new friend. And Hannibal really is happy to see them. He crouches to gaze into their faces, and scratches them behind the ears, beaming at them with bright eyes. There's something animalistic in him that Will has never seen before, and he looks like one of the pack when they all come in after Will.

Will resists the impulse to offer Hannibal a treat with the dogs, but once they're all crunching away, he does bring out some cheese and crackers. Hannibal settles in at the kitchen table like he lives here, despite looking like a cutout from another movie. It hasn't been this easy for Will to just be with someone in a long, long time, and he wonders how to say that without sounding weird. In the end he gives up, and they just sit there and eat cheese and crackers like he used to do with Dad on rainy days, the pair of them not saying a word for hours at a time. 

This doesn't last for hours, Hannibal's too talkative, but all he says is, "Do you like Roquefort?"

Will chuckles at this question out of so long a silence. "It's hard to say."

"Oh?"

"I tend to come across it in small amounts and at parties I don't want to attend."

Hannibal smiles, laying another thin slice of extra-sharp cheddar onto a saltine with professional care. "I'll have to bring you some, one of these days."

"If you want," Will says, and pauses, regarding the plate between them. He wants to thank Hannibal, so clearly a water-crackers-and-Roquefort type, for eating saltines and cheddar without comment. He doesn't, since it's awkward at best and a slight to Hannibal's courtesy at worst.

"I do," Hannibal says. "You have been very interesting to feed so far."

"You and Mrs. Katz. Do I look malnourished or something?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Hannibal says, "but a bit hungry, perhaps."


	4. Chapter 4

It's one of those lazy days when evening is still hot, and after Hannibal has taken off his jacket and tie and made another round of drinks, it seems perfectly reasonable that he should hang around for dinner. Will hopes Hannibal doesn't have gold-plated veal thawing or anything, but it's his funeral. Will follows his guest around his own kitchen, helping him to put together some light, Mediterranean thing. While it cooks, Hannibal tows Will to the couch and kisses him until he starts to feel awkward about the dogs. He gently pushes Hannibal away to point this out, and he laughs.

"Perhaps we could continue this upstairs? And after dinner," he adds, as the kitchen timer goes off.

"Sure," Will says, and laughs quietly at the way Hannibal's instincts as a cook have overridden everything. To be fair, the food turns out to be excellent, and well worth the attention. 

Afterward, Hannibal is willing to leave the dishes to soak and come upstairs to grapple on the guest bed like a pair of unsupervised teenagers. Will feels like he really shouldn't be surprised that letting Hannibal into his kitchen leads to jerking him off, but he sort of is. It's not even the first time, but it's been so long that each occasion is a salubrious shock. Will mouths at Hannibal's neck and lets him guide his hand, shaking at the hot, soft, slick touch of him. It's always nice to be with someone else uncut, and he can't help a little snicker now as he remembers Hannibal's surprised delight the first time he touched him.

"Find something amusing, Mr. Graham?" Hannibal drawls, turning his head to gently nibble on the outside of Will's ear in a way that sends a shudder through him.

"Just remembering how happy you were to see my dick, darlin'," Will drawls right back, doing it much better from formative years spent in the south.

"I find all the compulsory shearing tragic," Hannibal says, and grips Will as if to check that everything is still there. 

Everything is very much there, and Will groans, biting Hannibal's neck and rutting into his hand. He's shaking, and low noises work up from his chest with each breath as he tries to keep stroking Hannibal. He may feel like a clumsy, wound up kid again, but at least they're on a real bed now and not in Hannibal's car. That had been good, but this is a lot better, wild without that craziness to it. Will bites Hannibal's chest and hangs on as Hannibal moans and winds his free hand into Will's hair, holding him there and guiding him to one nipple when he lets go. Will sucks and bites and finally just cries out against Hannibal's skin, coming all over his hand. Hannibal does the same before Will can start feeling truly awkward, and the two of them just lie there for a while.

"So much more comfortable than a car," Will mutters.

"That was a bit much," Hannibal admits, "though I can't regret it."

"Since we didn't get arrested, I'll let it slide this time," Will says, pressing a kiss over Hannibal's heart.

"Mm. Thank you, officer."

"Never should've told you I used to be a cop," Will grumbles, and Hannibal laughs.

Despite all available distractions, Hannibal takes his project of feeding Will seriously, and Will's return visit is spent entirely in the kitchen. The house is way too palatial for Will's comfort, but the homeyness of a well-loved kitchen is a universal constant. Hannibal is also very serious about the food. This isn't just an excuse to get Will over here, he really _cares_ what Will thinks of Roquefort. 

It's kind of nice to not feel hunted, but after Will leaves he finds himself wishing that he had been that slight bit less comfortable, that Hannibal had tried for more than a few long and lazy kisses. He spends the night with that small regret cuddled up under his ribs, and wakes up in the morning a little lonely and dimly irritated. Taking care of the dogs helps a little, as does a message from Hannibal that arrives over Will's lunch break. It's just a picture of a paper napkin, with a drawing of a scowling chibi Will sitting on a wedge of blue-veined cheese, the whole image enclosed in a heart. Will chuckles.

 _thanks_ he sends back, _i shall treasure it always <3_

That Saturday Hannibal takes Will out to dinner and has him try three separate things that he has never heard of. They're all right, but the way Hannibal watches him is what Will really wants. It's late, and the air is crackling between them when Hannibal invites Will in for a drink. The house is still too much for Will, but he notices it less this time, probably because he's busy trying to kiss Hannibal and follow him to the bedroom at the same time. At least they've abandoned the brandy, and don't have to worry about the almost certainly real crystal snifters.

Of course Hannibal turns out to have an enormous bed, but the way he tackles Will onto it is a bit of a surprise. He's fast for a guy his size, and grins that enormous, sharp-toothed grin at Will as if to say, _thanks for noticing_. "God, you're pretty," he breathes, and more licks at Will's mouth than kisses him. It's sloppy and odd, but good, and soon Hannibal is unwrapping Will like a present. He seems determined to put his mouth on every part of him, and Will has no problem with that. He clutches at Hannibal's hair and tries to keep breathing. When Hannibal sits back to get out of his own clothes, Will transfers his clinging hands to his own hair, and takes deep breaths, crying out when Hannibal bites him over the ribs, almost too hard.

"I could just eat you up," Hannibal purrs, and sits up again to pull a wrapped condom out of the nightstand. "Last chance to holler if you don't want me to suck you off, cowboy."

The change in his speech patterns strikes Will as funny, and he grins down as Hannibal as he moves into position. "And what if I do?"

"You can holler about that, if you want," Hannibal says, and then slides down onto him.

Will isn't used to people being able to manage all of him at once like this, and distantly notes that it's pretty funny that he sounds like he's choking when Hannibal is the one with a throat full of dick. That's his last coherent thought as Hannibal sucks on him like he needs cock to live, and Will can't even try not to fall apart. He puts his legs over Hannibal's shoulders and tries not to howl too loud. When he comes it leaves him breathless, boneless, and useless, and all he can do for Hannibal is moan and weakly hold onto him as he grinds himself off on his thigh, but by the deep, feral way he groans as he spills warm over Will's skin, it's more than enough.


	5. Chapter 5

Will has no intention whatsoever of going to the Chesapeake Behavioral Science Conference, but the fish aren't biting and the weather is only getting worse. Not catching anything is all right when the sun is out, but cold rain makes camping dismal and not worth it without the saving grace of fresh fish. A drive with the dogs is nice, but even after he gets everything stowed away or hung up to dry, Will is faced with the remaining half of a chill and grey weekend. He tries working on a motor, but he's not really in the right mindset for that, and trying only makes it worse.

Checking his email, he comes across the CBSC schedule, and groans. He really should go, if he's in town. He should put on real pants and go to the brain expo. He slumps in his chair for a few minutes, and then gets up and finds a blazer and slacks that mostly go together. He crams his glasses onto his face and leaves the dogs with some chew toys to destroy and plenty of water, heading through the rain for the relevant lecture hall.

Will arrives just in time to catch the entirety of a presentation on personality disorders, settling in the back. It's not the best of its kind, but it isn't a waste of time, either. He takes a few notes, and sits in thought as the rest of the audience mills around to await the next speaker, or leaves in search of the restrooms or a vital panel. He glances up as the crowd thins out, and he smiles, because there's Hannibal, down closer to the stage. He's taking notes of his own, and tucked into the seat beside him is a leather satchel that Will hasn't seen him carry before. 

As Will makes his way down the empty aisle, he catches a glimpse of the edge of a tablet in Hannibal's bag, and a small pink box beside it that probably holds something processed and sweet. The idea of Hannibal nursing a secret preference for such things is adorable, and Will is wondering if he should tease him about it as he takes the last few steps down. Hannibal is sitting very straight, and doesn't look around as Will approaches.

"Hey," Will says, and Hannibal looks around and up at him, eyes a little hazy and strangely green. 

It must be the grey-green suit or something that's making those brown eyes look hazel, but it's still very striking. It takes a second, but Hannibal does smile at him. Coolly, as if Will is a near-stranger at a party. Hell, he seems to be flipping through a mental Rolodex to place him, and Will can feel his stomach start to knot up.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Graham," he says, and it's not any kind of joke. It's so cold and contained and serious that Will is filled with the furious and sudden urge to strike him. He didn't need a fucking open-mouthed kiss, but the closeted bastard could at least own that he and Will are on a first-name basis. Will is too old fool around with a guy who's going to pretend not to know him afterward.

"Dr. Lecter," Will hisses in acknowledgment, and literally bites his lip to keep from saying anything else. He feels like a fool, standing here in the aisle, but right now he wouldn't take the seat beside Hannibal for a hundred dollars.

Hannibal blinks and twitches just a little, and suddenly his eyes are their usual deep, honey brown. "Will! I thought you'd still be fishing!" He moves the bag and gestures to the seat beside him. Will's angry pride doesn't crumble, but it does contract a bit, and leaves him room to notice that people are coming back in and that he should probably sit down. He does, and Hannibal offers him a small, sheepish smile and takes his hand.

"I am sorry," he says. "I suppose the occasion has made me too much of a doctor."

It's a fucking feeble excuse for being so weird, but Hannibal is now holding his hand as the hall gets more crowded, not less, and even presses a kiss to the knuckles, so Will can stand to sit beside him for the next presentation. He doesn't actually take in a word of it, but he sits quietly while Hannibal continues to take notes. When the lights come up again, Hannibal kisses Will's cheek. It's nice, but Will is still feeling a little raw, and pulls away. Hannibal lets him.

"Did you think I was ashamed of you?" he asks, and Will nods, furious all over again at how much he cares about that. "I'm not," Hannibal says, "and I'm grieved to hurt your feelings." Will sighs and pushes the chair arm up, to lean on Hannibal's shoulder as the room slowly empties around them to lie unused for the lunch break from one to two.

"It's not you," Will says, and feels his face flush as Hannibal puts an arm around him. "I've just actually had guys pretend to not know me. God knows I shouldn't give anyone crap about being weird."

Hannibal hesitates for a long moment, and then speaks again. "There is something that I need to tell you, and I haven't been sure just how or when is best."

"If you're dumping me, do it now," Will says, but he doubts that.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hannibal tells him, and kisses his forehead before standing up and gathering his things. "It's about me, and I'm not HIV positive or secretly married. Come to lunch with me, and we can discuss it like civilized people."

Hannibal doesn't care about anything else happening at the conference today, and Will is supposed to be fishing, so they don't have to content themselves with the anemic options present on a college campus, or even to the ones immediately nearby. Apparently Hannibal has a younger sister who has a partial interest in what he describes, clear-eyed through fraternal fondness, as the second best sushi bar in the state.

Will is just glad to find the place not nearly as fancy as so many of Hannibal's usual haunts, and that they can take their time over lunch. Hannibal gets into an animated and lengthy discussion of cutting techniques with the chef in Japanese, but Will doesn't mind that, nibbling at the assorted sashimi Hannibal ordered to share and sipping an ice-cold Sapporo out of the enormous silver bullet can. Hannibal's deferred explanation hangs over Will's head, but for now he can wait.


	6. Chapter 6

When Hannibal outlines his plan to take Will back to his car so the two of them can meet at his house, Will agrees and reminds his stomach that knotting up around a good lunch is is a futile and ultimately misguided idea, because he sees this for what it is: a chance for him to get away, like leaving an opening for a stressed out dog. The ride back isn't great, but it's not excruciating, either. Hannibal has the sense to just switch on some opera and let Will stare out the window.

Will rouses himself when they arrive at the parking lot, and kisses Hannibal before he slides out of the car because that damage is already done. Hannibal's smile at this is bright and sudden, and eases Will's misgivings a bit. They're back in full force by the time he pulls up to Hannibal's house, of course, and he takes deep and deliberate breaths as he sits in the car for a long moment, and then keeps taking deep and deliberate breaths as he walks up to the door and rings the bell. At least if everything is fucked, they haven't reached reached the point where either of them needs to change the locks.

Hannibal looks so fucking relieved to see Will that he feels guilty, and then right around to angry again, because Hannibal is the one with some dire disclosure to make, not him. Hannibal ushers him and sits him down on the couch. Will accepts his offer of green tea, and sips it out of a cup without a handle while he waits for Hannibal to speak. Damned if Will will give him anything to elaborate on.

"I'm about to tell you the truth," he says at last, "but my truth is a very strange one." Will does not say that this had better be good, but it's a near thing, and Hannibal chuckles. "Don't worry, Will," he says, "you'll soon understand the reason for so much anxious anticipation."

"I hope so," Will grumbles, his face bathed in steam from his cup.

Hannibal sighs. "What do you know about the condition currently referred to as dissociative identity disorder?"

"...Are you fucking telling me you have multiple personalities?"

"Yes," Hannibal says, "I am."

"...Bullshit." Will isn't even angry, he just can't grasp why anyone as intelligent as Hannibal would choose this over something more plausible.

"I thought you might say that," Hannibal says, rising. "Allow me to gather my documentation." There's a touch of the way he was when Will approached him at the conference, a cool, crisp quality that sets Will's teeth on edge. He steps out of the room for just a moment, and returns with a hardcover book and a thick folder, full of yellowed printouts, many with perforated strips still attached. "The book is about cognition as it takes place in people like ourselves as opposed to singular consciousnesses. The file contains the closest thing we have to baby pictures."

Will feels like his mind is wobbling a little, because this is one hell of a paper trail. He takes the book and examines it to give his eyes and hands something to do. The jacket is pristine, and the author's name is given as Dr. H. Lecter. "How many of you are there?" he asks, not looking up.

"Five," Hannibal says. "Myself, two more that are fit for company, and two that are not."

"Undesirables?"

"So Billy Milligan would call them, yes. They have served their adaptive purposes and are currently counter-productive."

"Been telling them to keep away from me?"

"Yes, actually." He sits down beside Will and opens up the file. "A lot of these early ones are apparently unrelated, but taken together they give some idea. Much of it is in Russian, I spent some time in a Soviet orphanage. However, there is a very comprehensive evaluation from when we were adopted. Not that my uncle knew he was getting the full complement, of course." 

He hands Will a sheaf of yellowed pages, and Will sets the book aside to take them. They're typewritten, presumably from 1970 or so, and Will begins to read. Hannibal is described as a bright, intelligent boy, generally gregarious with occasional fits of shyness. The ancient notes say that the child is thin but well-grown for his age of twelve years, and appears normal save for _intermittent episodes in which he seems to be suffering from light to profound mental retardation, and others when he becomes violent toward himself or others._

Will reads on to learn that many of the violent fits involve resource guarding, and that the cognitive difficulties tend to manifest as baby talk and imperfect bladder control, along with a profound interest in anything bright or pretty. Dr. Pazzi has no idea how much of this is organic, and how much the result of Hannibal's entire family dying by violence, leaving him to survive four years in a tragically-understaffed orphanage with no psychological care.

"We were very confused," Hannibal says softly. "Suddenly there was plenty to eat and look at, but everything had changed, and we were terrified."

"Did you eventually find your feet?""

"We did," Hannibal says. "My sister was a great help. She's very quiet and patient, the sort of person who's good with animals. Like you."

Will snorts, and flips a few more pages. He stops on a drawing, signed and dated by Hannibal as January 10th, 1972. Will knows that Hannibal can draw, but for a twelve-year-old, this piece is astounding, a photo-realistic sketch of a city street that makes Will think of Paris.

"Were you in France when you did this?" Will murmurs, still gazing at it.

"We were," Hannibal says, and the 'we' doesn't sound like a put-on at all. "The evaluation is in English because it was the first language my uncle and aunt had in common, and they spoke it at home. They knew enough French to get around, but my aunt was much more fluent."

"And the doctor?"

"An Italian, but he spoke English very well. At the time, most of us weren't speaking at all, so it hardly mattered what language the adults chose." He smiles. "And I liked learning English. I appreciate its peculiarities, and it made me remember our father, who had taught us some when we were very small."

Will flips further into the report, and finds a transcription of one of these English lessons. Crazy as all this is, he can't help but smile as he reads. Hannibal greets Dr. Pazzi in what must be Lithuanian, and then switches to English to say that he is very well this morning, and hopes that the doctor is the same.


	7. Chapter 7

Hannibal sits very patiently as Will picks through his file, and after a few more pages, it makes Will ashamed of himself. If their positions were reversed, he would be thinking that it would be better to be devoured by army ants than to sit there and let someone read these evaluations and transcripts, staying silent as sticky fingers dug through the corners of his mind. He shuts the file and passes it back.

"Sorry," he says, and Hannibal puts an arm around him. There's nothing stiff or weird about it, and Will relaxes against him, breathing in his familiar scent.

"It's all right," Hannibal says, cradling the file in his free hand. "This is a difficult thing to explain."

"I can't help a certain amount of professional skepticism," Will says, "but those memory lapses and behavioral issues are certainly something."

Hannibal kisses the corner of Will's eye. "Active hostility and fetishization are the only two reactions I wouldn't be able to take from you, so we're doing fine."

"So did you really not know me at the conference?" Will asks, drawing his feet onto the cushion and curling up. Hannibal sets the file aside and moves with Will, cuddling him the same way he always has.

"Dr. Lecter is the professional one," Hannibal says, his breath warm on Will's scalp, "so he has only had glimpses of you. He does some of the driving, and he was at the front when you greeted us. He did know you, that's just how he is with everyone. He was sorry to hurt your feelings, when I pointed out that he had."

"He doesn't grasp that and he's the shrink?"

Hannibal chuckles. "Really, the two of us together are the shrink. He has the doctorate, I have the working knowledge of human nature."

"Huh. Who else have I met?" Will asks.

"Almost everyone. One of us is a child, and answered the phone the first time you called, you met Dr. Lecter today, and one of the others is present almost every time I do anything sexual."

"So I've fucked him without knowing it? Great." Will isn't even sure how upset he should be, but he doesn't really feel like pulling away, so he doesn't.

"I'm sorry, Will. It's the pattern of a lifetime. He was there for our-- for this body's first kiss. He wasn't there for yours and mine," he adds softly, and for some reason that helps a lot.

"...Guess it was his idea to jerk me off in your car."

"It was," Hannibal says, sounding more than a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I just never know when to disclose, and he's so much a part of me at times like that..."

"Well. It's not like you brought in a friend without asking or recorded it or something," Will says. "I guess I'm okay. Is he why you talk more American when you're horny?"

"Almost assuredly. He's deeply bound to physical pleasure. I find trying to keep him out incredibly distracting, and that success makes me cold and unresponsive to my partner."

Will chuckles. "And we can't have that, can we?" he turns toward Hannibal and kisses his cheek and this lips, light and sweet. "The kid stays the hell away, right? I couldn't take that."

Hannibal shudders in revulsion, and then kisses Will again as if to take a bad taste out of his mouth. "Absolutely," he says. "The child isn't even curious."

They do end up in Hannibal's bed again, but this time they only remove enough clothing for comfort, Will stretched out in boxer briefs and his undershirt as they just hold each other and talk quietly while the rain patters on the windows. Hannibal doesn't talk about the events that fractured him, and Will doesn't try to make him. Instead, he tells him about Little Sister, a small girl who loves sweet things and Hello Kitty, and Dr. Lecter's career as Teacher's Pet before they earned his title. He glances across the effects of the others, fights and thefts and the self-harm that Will has already seen the marks of on his skin. Will kisses the scars on Hannibal's upper arms, and Hannibal sighs, stroking his hair.

Hannibal's heartbeat and the sound of rain lull Will to sleep, and he comes blinking awake with no idea what time it is and a dim sense of panic about his dogs. He's alone in the vast bed, and a quick glance at the analogue carriage clock on the nightstand lets him know that it's almost four. It has only been about three hours, the dogs can cope a bit longer. Will rolls to his feet and stretches as tall as he can for a long moment, then pulls his jeans and unbuttoned shirt back on. He lets the shirt gape as he shuffles downstairs to find Hannibal in his shirtsleeves and an actual apron, rolling pie crust. He smiles at Will, his hands still moving at their task.

"Good afternoon, Will. Do you have time to stay for an early dinner?"

"I think so. The dogs will forgive me if I bring them leftovers."

"Or even if you don't. Isn't that why people like dogs?"

"Definitely part of it," Will says, and takes a seat at the kitchen island, watching as Hannibal lines a pie pan and sets it aside. "Was it you who liked them so much?"

"That was both of us, myself and the Cannibal, which is our hedonistic friend's title."

"The Cannibal reminded me of a dog," Will says, "so I guess I like him."

"He'll be delighted to hear it," Hannibal says. "He enjoys you a great deal, and for him that's pretty much the sum of caring about anything."

Over dinner, they talk about the different functions of each self. The Cannibal is all instinct and sensation, and a ferocious fighter any time Hannibal is faced with a physical threat. Dr. Lecter is professional and academic, and is not actually much good with people if Hannibal isn't whispering into his ear the whole time. The child self is tied into a biological sister who died with Hannibal's parents, and the Sin-Eater is paralyzed by guilt.

"The Sin-Eater is the one who self-harms. Dr. Pazzi had a hard time telling him from the Cannibal when we got violent. Sometimes both of them really were there, fighting for the wheel."

"And these days they just stay in the back seat?" Will asks, spearing a delicate pearl onion out of his slice of meat pie.

"Mostly. The Sin-Eater has some of our organizational skill and sometimes helps Dr. Lecter with paperwork, but you probably won't meet him any time soon."

Will nods, and glances up from his plate. "Is the cooking all you?"

"Yes," he says, with pardonable pride, in light of how fucking good his food is. "The Cannibal likes to eat too much not to have learned a bit, but I'm the one with all the finesse."


	8. Chapter 8

Will supposes that the old saw about humanity's ability to get used to anything has some truth in it. There's a brief moment when he wakes up on Sunday morning thinking that everything from the conference on was a weird dream, but his memories shuffle into line in a moment. Hannibal is actually five people working together, or at the very least absolutely believes that he is. Okay, then. Will has seen far worse responses to childhood trauma. So long as the Cannibal's name isn't completely literal, they should be all right.

The weather continues to justify Will's early return, and today he is in the right mood to work on a motor. He stretches out on the floor with the current one, and the dogs supervise the job and nap in turns, the house filled with the soothing sound of rain. It's probably inevitable that Will falls asleep over his work, his head pillowed on one arm. His phone wakes him up, and he grumbles and pats around for it, grabbing it and answering it without looking at the number.

"Hello?" he grumbles.

"...Mr. Graham?" It's a very soft voice, sweet and high like a little girl's, but...

"Hannibal?" Will asks, knowing that it probably isn't really him even as he says the name.

"It's Little Sister," the little voice says, and Will isn't surprised at all.

"Uh, hi," he says, unsure why the kid is even calling him. He keeps his voice gentle and as friendly as he can manage. "What's going on, Little Sister?" he asks.

"Wanna see you," she says, and there's a faint sound, like a thumb being popped into a human mouth and sucked on. Weird as this feels, there's a little glow to Will's heart to think the that kid is invested in him at all.

"Well, I guess I could come over..." Will says, eying the dogs. He likes them to have at least one day a week when they don't have to cope with him going away, but if Hannibal needs him, Will will go.

"I will bring Little Sister," Hannibal's voice suddenly says, crisp, clear, and cold the way the doctor's is. Hannibal did say that he does some of the driving.

"Do you remember the way?" he asks.

"I do. We will be there in half an hour." He hangs right up, without any kind of farewell.

"Great," Will says, putting his phone away. "Asshole." He stands and stretches, looking around. The place is neat enough, especially on such short notice. He isn't sure what the kid is going to want to do when she gets here, but he digs up a pack of crayons and sets it on top of some printer paper on the coffee table. Presumably Hannibal and/or the doctor have kept Little Sister from walking into any fireplaces so far, so Will doesn't worry about his own. 

There's probably something in the fridge that a kid will eat, and Will checks to see if his impulse-buy quart of chocolate milk is still good. It is, and Will moves on to his DVD selection, grimacing. There is a disc of the old My Little Pony cartoon that Beverly gave him as a gag gift, he has to hope it will do if the kid doesn't want to just listen to the rain. 

Once Will has taken care of what he can, he starts in on the motor again, glad to be able to slip back into the right headspace to work. He jumps at a knock on the door, and isn't surprised to look out and see what must be Dr. Lecter on the doorstep. He looks very remote under his black umbrella, his eyes flecked with green. The leather bag bulges where it's resting on his hip, and he steps inside like a tech walking into a crime scene, cautious and careful but not afraid.

"Good afternoon, Will," he says, neatly folding his umbrella, fastening the strap to make it a tight, neat roll before he puts it point-down on the mat, the handle resting against the wall because Will isn't the kind of guy to have an umbrella stand. "Before ceding the front to Little Sister," the doctor says, hanging up his coat, "I must advise you of the following: Little Sister cannot bear the smell of cooking meat, jokes about eating little children up terrify her, and she will be put out of if you are completely unwilling to play dolls. Enthusiasm is not required."

Will laughs, even with the horrible ideas Little Sister's limits are giving him. "I think I can handle that. Can I cook dairy?"

"There would be no problem with that," he says. "She'll want to change when she comes out, may we use your restroom?"

"Sure. You know the way if Hannibal does, right?"

"Right," the doctor says, and disappears into the bathroom. 

Will waits for him, feeling awkward and remembering his attempts to be a good boyfriend about ageplay, what feels like a thousand years ago. At least it had been the sexual stuff that was really weird. He doesn't like that part, but telling someone how good they're being and cutting the crusts off their sandwiches can be kind of fun.

"Mr. Graham?" Little Sister chirps, and the dogs all look up in surprise. 

Little Sister comes padding in on stocking feet, wearing a pink dress with ruffles at the neck and hem. She beams, the wide, untroubled smile of a very small child, and Will has to smile back. When she comes close and hugs him tightly, he can see that her eyes are golden, an incredible, beautiful color, especially all lit with real joy.

"You can call me Will, honey," he says, arms loosely looped around her waist. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes!" she chirps, and follows him into the kitchen. 

She links her hands behind her back when they get near the stove, and keeps them that way. Will isn't surprised that she's trained not to hurt herself in the kitchen. It's probably Hannibal's doing, though the doctor might have helped with it. It turns out that with the meat prohibition extending all the way to canned tuna (but not eggs,) Will doesn't have much that Little Sister will eat, but she's not picky. A grilled cheese sandwich and a PBJ (both with the crusts cut off, of course) do just fine for her, and soon she's eating them in dainty little nibbles while she draws pictures. 

They're much better than a real kid would do, but nowhere near the skill level of the adult selves. She draws typical girl stuff, houses and flowers and bunnies and rainbows, all well-represented in vibrant colors. Once Will is sure she's well under way, he gets back to work on the motor again, listening as Little Sister hums some classical piece over the patter of the rain.


	9. Chapter 9

Will doesn't really notice how long Little Sister draws. He does notice when she leaves the room, and he's about to go after her to be sure nothing is wrong when she comes back, carrying Dr. Lecter's bag in both hands. It's not as bulgy this time, the dress must have been folded up inside it. There's a big lump visible in it now, and Will isn't surprised when Little Sister pulls out a doll. It's a simple rag doll, made of pink scraps sewn together crazy-quilt style. It has big green button eyes, black yarn hair, and no feet, just a sort of skirt-shaped bag. He wonders if she made it herself, and listens as she plays with it, talking to herself and the doll like little girls do. She mimes feeding and dressing the doll, and then sits and rocks it like a baby, calling it Soft Girl.

"Will?" Little Sister asks after a while of playing with Soft Girl.

"Yeah, honey?" Will looks over at her where she's sitting on the floor by the fire.

"Hannibal says he wants to talk to you," Little Sister says, with the very serious look some children get when relaying phone messages.

"I'd be happy to listen," Will says, and then watches spellbound as Little Sister's fingers twitch where she's holding Soft Girl, and her head nods forward like she's falling asleep. And then Hannibal is there. He's still wearing a ruffly pink dress and holding a doll, but it's definitely Hannibal, eyes his own gorgeous whiskey-red.

"We're not imposing too much, are we, Will?" he asks, and Will smiles, crawling over to sit beside Hannibal.

"No," Will says. "I didn't have any real plans for today, anyway." He pauses, studying Hannibal. He looks remarkably silly in Little Sister's dress, and Will tries not to laugh.

"I am aware that this is not the most becoming garment, Will, feel free to laugh." Will does, and Hannibal joins in, Soft Girl held in the crook of his elbow. He leans on Will as they quiet down, and Will puts his arm around him.

"I like the kid," Will says softly. "She's sweet."

"She is," Hannibal says. "I didn't realize she was so interested in you until today. You know how children are."

"Secretive, sometimes," Will agrees, and kisses Hannibal's cheek. "How long is she gonna want to stay?"

"Into the afternoon, if that's all right. I can make dinner when I re-emerge, or let you have your space.''

"I've had your cooking, you know what I'm going to say," Will says, and Hannibal beams, kissing him on the mouth and then settling back to his previous position.

"All right, that's all I needed to say. See you later," he says, and his head dips again, fingers twitching. Little Sister looks up again, smiling at Will. "Are you done with your motor?" she asks, and he chuckles, kissing the top of her head before he can think better of it. She giggles and squirms happily, hugging Soft Girl.

Will smiles. "Almost, honey," he says. "Can you and Soft Girl just play for another few minutes?"

"Okay," she says, "but then you have to play, too."

Will solemnly swears that in only a few minutes he will play dolls with Little Sister, and gets back to work. He really is only five minutes out from being done, but after that he has to put everything away and wipe the grease from his hands, which takes long enough that Little Sister is beginning to fuss. Just some little huffy noises and disgruntled squirming, and she stops as soon as Will crouches beside her.

"All right, honey, here I am," he says, and she giggles, holding up Soft Girl and making the stubby arms pat his face. 

The fabric smells like a grandmother's house, like Soft Girl spends a lot of her time in a drawer with old fashioned potpourri. Will chuckles into the barrage, and is still smiling when Little Sister pulls Soft Girl away. Naturally, Will does not have any dolls of his own, but Little Sister is imaginative and adaptable, and soon Will is making a can of tomato paste hop along after Soft Girl, providing the voice of a magical talking rabbit.

Will is a bit relieved when Little Sister calls a halt. For all her articulate speech and artistic skill, she's really young, and has the vivid imagination and fractured dream logic that can make kids so exhausting. The worst of it is that Will's broken brain makes a real effort to keep up, and he feels more than a little loopy as he pours chocolate milk for Little Sister to drink with her Hello Kitty branded cookies, which is what turns out to be in the pink box that Will caught a glimpse of at the conference. She sets three of them on the wild rose patterned saucer Will got at a garage sale years ago, and nibbles daintily, taking little sips of chocolate milk out of a champagne flute. It won't matter if she breaks it, but Will has to admit that it doesn't seem very likely. He declines a cookie, but has a mug of chocolate milk to keep Little Sister company. She tells him all about her drawings, and about how Dr. Lecter made Soft Girl for her at the orphanage. 

"It took us a long time to find all the bits, but we all looked when we were out, even me, and I was really little, then."

"I'm glad your uncle found you," Will says, and she nods, looking sad.

"He was nice to us," she says, and then brightens a little. "Auntie is still alive, though! She went back to Japan, but we see her sometimes."

Will smiles. "That's good. I still miss my dad a lot, sometimes." He feels weird mentioning that to her, but she just nods, and pats his arm. Maybe Hannibal is back there, telling her not to ask about his mother, and why he doesn't miss her. Whatever happens behind those golden eyes, she goes back to nibbling on her cookies.

After this snack, Little Sister asks that dread question: "Do you have any cartoons?" And she looks so goddamn hopeful that Will sends up a silent prayer and puts on My Little Pony. The show turns out to be utterly fucking banal, but watching it isn't so bad with Little Sister curled up next to him, cuddling Soft Girl and commenting on all the pastel-colored non-action. As the sun lowers, the rain gets even colder, and when Little Sister shivers, Will brings her the blanket from his bed and then pokes up the fire. There are only four episodes on the disc, and by the end of them Little Sister is asleep, her thumb in her mouth and Soft Girl tucked up under her chin. Will smiles and strokes her hair, wondering how in the hell this is his life.


	10. Chapter 10

Just when Will is starting to think that Hannibal and company are going to sleep right through dinner time and leave their culinary future in Will's hands, he suddenly sits up. And it is Hannibal, blinking sleepily and opening his mouth in an enormous yawn that has nothing particularly childish about it. He sets Soft Girl in his lap, patting her with a sort of absent affection.

"What time is it, Will?"

"Almost five," he says, and Hannibal chuckles.

"I should get to work, then," he says, getting up and pulling the dress off over his head, leaving him in nothing but a pair of ruffled panties and little ankle socks that match. Will watches him, pondering how ridiculousness and hotness can sometimes occupy the same space. Hannibal folds the dress into a neat bundle, and sets the underthings and Soft Girl on top of it, padding away in all his naked glory. He returns wearing the slacks and the shirt that Dr. Lecter arrived in, the tie and everything else still in the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Hannibal rolls up his sleeves, makes a noise of matronly disapproval at Will not owning an apron, and gets to work. The cupboard is beginning to be bare, Will having put off going to the grocery store for about a week now, but there's plenty of frozen fish, and a bag of corn Will had forgotten about. Hannibal begins a sort of trout chowder for them, just the kind of thing Will wants on a dismal, unseasonably cold day.

"Thank you so much for your kindness to Little Sister," Hannibal says softly, peeling potatoes in single strips.

"Aw, hell, Hannibal, how else could I treat her?" Will says, and Hannibal sets his task down to come around and hug Will from behind.

"That is a large portion of what I like about you," he says softly, and Will laughs. "The doctor is beginning to like you too," he adds. "Ordinarily I wouldn't betray him, but I know that he's terrible at making friends."

"Shit, we've got something in common," Will says, and takes Hannibal's hand and kisses it. "He's kind of a prick," Will murmurs into Hannibal's skin, "but he's very serious about Little Sister's welfare, and that's sweet."

"He is not so much heartless as unpracticed and specialized away from socialization," Hannibal says, and kisses Will on the temple before letting him go in order to drift over to the cutting board again, to resume making his neat pile of peelings.

"I feel like I should be helping you somehow," Will says, and Hannibal smiles over at him.

"You can watch the bacon if you want to be useful. I'll add these when it's nearly done." 

Of course Will doesn't have the real salt pork people are supposed to use for chowder. He's not even sure if it's still sold outside of specialty shops, but Hannibal had said that bacon would be fine for their purposes. It's still raining, the sound blending with the gentle sizzle of the pan as Will watches it and Hannibal dices potatoes. Will is always surprised at how good Hannibal can be at being quiet. He's not surprised at how good the soup smells once it's underway.

Hannibal prefers to eat at a real table, but he's gracious about Will dragging him to the couch instead. There's an end table to rest things on, and this way they're close enough to the fire for it to paint them orange. The house is dark now that the kitchen lights are switched off, and all the dogs are gathered on the floor between them and the flames, all of them at least half asleep.

"There is something restful about so many dogs so still," Hannibal murmurs, near the beginning of his second bowl.

"It's a large part of why I keep them around," Will says, and Hannibal chuckles. "Really, if I lived closer to a shelter that didn't euthanize, I'd probably have fewer. Winston definitely insisted on belonging to me, though. I don't think I could get rid of him if I tried." Winston waves his feathered tail dreamily at the mention of his name, and Will smiles at him, reaching out to stroke his back with one foot, hands occupied.

"I can relate," Hannibal says, and Will feels himself blush.

"That something you're into?" he mutters, staring into the fire.

"To a certain extent," Hannibal says, leaning on Will as he tips his bowl away from him the way etiquette books say to do. He makes it look very natural, when Will risks a glance over at him.

"Good to know," Will whispers, and sets his empty bowl aside. Hannibal passes his own to Will and then insinuates himself under Will's arm, nuzzling his chest a little and smiling up at him in the firelight. Will chuckles, and runs his fingers through Hannibal's hair. "Don't take this the wrong way, but it's weird that a guy like you can be so cute."

"Nothing I haven't heard before, Will," he says, sounding like he really isn't taking it the wrong way. "I"m aware of my severity of line, but I refuse to let it dictate my behavior."

"The contrast just makes you cuter," Will tells him, stroking his hair.

"Good," Hannibal mumbles. There's a strange little tug, and Will flinches in surprise to realize that Hannibal is unbuttoning his shirt with his teeth.

"Jesus, Hannibal," he whispers, and Hannibal chuckles.

"I'm talented," he coos, and slides a hand into the gap, beaming up at Will.

The dogs are too happy where they are to disturb, so even though it's a bit of a wrench to leave the warmth of the fire, they do. The upstairs bedroom is set up, though, and so much closer to the roof the drumming of the rain is loud and comforting. Hannibal tenderly undresses Will, actually folding everything and neatly stacking it up on the dresser, because he is that kind of asshole. Will lets him have a good look and then slides under the covers, curling up to watch Hannibal strip. He does it with a sense of showmanship that Will really appreciates, and he applauds when Hannibal lets his last item of clothing drop.

"Now you're gonna fold those, aren't you?" Will asks, and Hannibal laughs.

"Yes, sir," he says, and the address makes Will shiver. He's quick about it at least, and soon he's climbing beside Will, all chilled skin and long legs. Will pulls him close, but just holds him while he asks about safewords and just what kinds of submission Hannibal is interested in.


	11. Chapter 11

Will never likes to get too fancy the first time he does this kind of thing with someone, so in the end he just holds Hannibal down, murmuring soft praise into his ear for being a good boy and staying where Will puts him. His eyes are a bright nearly-red, and he gazes up at Will, enraptured. Fortunately for both of them, Will replaced his last expired quarter-pack of rubbers shortly after the incident in Hannibal's car, and had the sense to buy lube while he was at it.

"Stay," Will says, and lets go of Hannibal's wrists. Hannibal stays, and Will smiles at at him as he sits up, still straddling his hips. "Good boy." He reaches over and pulls the lube out of the drawer, and Hannibal lets out a little whine when he sees it.

"Please, sir," he whimpers, "please please I've wanted your fingers inside me so much..." he trails off, flushed and wild-eyed, and then moans as Will shifts off of him to open his legs. 

Hannibal obeys the gentle pressure of Will's hand, spreading wide for him. He lets out helpless, breathy little sounds as Will works him open, and Will is awed and a little envious at how easy it is. His own body is tense absolutely everywhere, and getting him open enough to be fucked can be an all-night proposition. Hannibal just opens up and swallows him, groaning as Will goes from two fingers to three, gently twisting his hand and adding just a little more lube. 

Hannibal whimpers something garbled and not even in English to start with, and then gasps, "Fuck me, fuck me, please sir, please please please--" until Will cuts him off with a kiss, pushing his fingers deeper still and making Hannibal moan into his mouth.

"Just relax," Will murmurs against Hannibal's lips, "I'll take care of you." Hannibal whimpers when Will sits up again, but he keeps the backs of his hands pressed to the mattress beside his head, pupils hugely dilated as he watches Will carefully prepare a condom. "Such a good boy," Will coos, and Hannibal shakes all over as Will settles between his legs and lines up against his hole. 

Once Hannibal's body has swallowed a good half of him up, Will can pin him again, holding him to the mattress as he slides into him. Will groans at the fragile, clinging heat of Hannibal around him, and sinks as deeply into it as he can, making Hannibal moan and pant beneath him, long legs coming up to wrap around his hips. When Will is truly worked up, he gets a little rough for some people, but the only safeword Hannibal ever gives him is 'vanilla,' the equivalent of 'green' in a traffic light system. Even when the headboard starts to bang against the wall, Hannibal looks blissful, and when Will bites his throat he moans and comes all over himself. Will can't watch and feel that without joining in, and lets out a loud, cracked cry that he knows will embarrass him later as he comes so hard it greys out his vision. 

Hannibal is very good about letting Will lie on him in a useless daze without even pulling out, both of them catching their breath. As soon as Will can think in a straight line again, he slips out of Hannibal and throws the condom away before gathering him in his arms and putting bracelets of kisses around his wrists as he tells him what a good boy he was. Hannibal makes little purring noises, and falls asleep for a while. Just when Will is wondering if he should prepare for the visit to last overnight, Hannibal opens his eyes again. They're flecked with green, and he extricates himself from Will with the rapidity of real embarrassment.

Will chuckles, letting him go. "Sorry, doctor."

"If we didn't have an early appointment tomorrow, I would have left everything to Hannibal, believe me," he says, gathering up Hannibal's clothes. "May we use your shower?"

"Of course," Will says, stretching and rolling into the warm spot that the doctor left behind. He dozes for a bit, and then gets up to take a shower of his own and to let out a few of the dogs whose need to pee has overcome their reluctance to go out on a rainy night. He washes the dinner dishes while Dr. Lecter puts himself together and makes sure that he has all of Little Sister's things. He also collects her drawings, tucking them into the bag behind the tablet and the box of cookies. He pauses in the middle of doing that, and turns to Will with a wide, childlike smile, eyes golden again.

"I want you to have this one," Little Sister says, and hands Will a picture of Winston, carefully rendered in various shades of golden brown that Will wouldn't have thought possible with his crappy little Crayola eight-pack. 

Will smiles. "Thanks, honey," he says softly, and hangs it on the fridge with a fish-shaped magnet that makes Little Sister giggle. She kisses his cheek, and recedes again, the doctor rising to the surface. He does smile a little at Will, though, and Will smiles back. "Thank you," he says softly, and holds out his hand for Will to shake, the gesture stiff and awkward, but just as clearly heartfelt. 

Will gives it a friendly squeeze, and then lets go. "Drive safe, okay?"

"Always," the doctor says, picking up his umbrella and heading out the door. Will tells himself that he isn't waiting for anything, but he can't help being relieved when Hannibal texts him to announce his safe arrival home. Will sends a short acknowledgment back, and sleeps upstairs, where the sheets smell like Hannibal.

Going to work in the morning is like returning from some other world. Everything is simultaneously homey and dreary, and Will is glad that he doesn't have office hours on Monday, and can just flee for home the second his last lecture is over. The dogs greet him ecstatically, and Will laughs at them, the tension in his shoulders loosening up. He lets them sniff around and relieve themselves for a bit, and then changes out of his work clothes and takes them for a long run through the wet grass and mud puddles. He gets as splashed as the rest of the pack, and sits shirtless on the porch after they get back, scrubbing mud out of their fur as it dries in his own hair. All of them accept hygiene very philosophically for animals that hate it so much (all except for Sandy, that freak,) and Will gives them another round of treats before he goes to shower his share of the mud off.


	12. Chapter 12

One nice thing about living alone is nearly unlimited hot water, and Will emerges from his shower squeaky clean and cooked pink. He shuffles into the kitchen to assemble a sandwich, and eats it over the sink like the bachelor scum that he is. His phone chirps twice before he's finished, alerting him to new texts. Usually he doesn't get anything but random thoughts and pictures from Beverly, such as a giant otter eating watermelon with the comment _IT UUUUUUUU_ , but sometimes Hannibal will text him to confirm or alter date plans.

The latest one says, _i'm sorry, will. the cannibal grabbed the phone._ Nervous and intrigued, Will opens the first one. _i like that u kno about me bb i like that a lot and i want to taste ur blood_

Will laughs and squirms, and replies to Hannibal: _the boy is a freak, and that's all right with me._ The phone rings a moment later, displaying Hannibal's number. Will chuckles, picking it up. "Yeah?"

"You are a gift upon the face of an undeserving world, Will," he purrs, and Will laughs again.

"You're ridiculous."

"We are ridiculous. The Cannibal really is fond of you. He tends to be attracted to whoever I like and many people I don't, but he usually doesn't seem to distinguish one from another."

"I guess I'm honored, then. You guys have a good day?"

"We did," Hannibal says, and tells Will about it as he putters around the house, putting things into order. It's incredibly domestic, and for once that doesn't feel strange to Will. He's not sure how to say that or even if he should, and is glad that Hannibal can keep up a conversation with very little help. When he hangs up, Will feels oddly lonely, even with the dogs.

The next morning, Will wakes up to more creepy sexts from the Cannibal, and laughs as he reads them over coffee. _you know,_ he sends to Hannibal, _i'm not really exposed to anybody else's fluids. if the cannibal wants to taste me so bad, i can probably arrange it._

Hannibal calls him to discuss it, and Will is nearly late to work. Still, it's a good reason to be nearly late, and all day he feels like nothing can irritate him, not even office hours. He will be glad to see the back of this class. Some years are more obnoxious than others, but today he has many consolations. Not least of which is a text from Hannibal, asking if he can bring dinner over. Will of course tells him that he's very welcome. _you can actually stay the night this time,_ he adds. _if you want._

He doesn't actually get a reply, but Hannibal pulls up to the house about five minutes after him. The dogs are delighted to see him, of course, and Hannibal pats them lovingly before retrieving a cooler from the back seat. He comes up the steps and kisses Will in greeting.

"I should have asked if you like caviar," he says, hauling the cooler into the kitchen. "Do you?"

"...I don't know if I've ever had it," Will says, trying to recall.

"Ah, so tonight will be a learning experience, good."

Will acts as kitchen assistant as Hannibal puts together some ludicrously elegant food porn that's probably going to taste as good as it looks. Not for the first time, he has an almost queasy feeling, created by the conflict between how much displays of wealth irritate him and how touched he is that Hannibal cares enough about him to feed him. He gets over it quickly, each time less of a challenge than the last. It helps that caviar actually is really good, and Hannibal laughs when he says so.

"I prefer to avoid things that are only delicacies because of price, and to concentrate on those that are actually delicious," Hannibal says, tenderly spooning a little more onto Will's salad. "I try to do the same with my company."

"So I'm caviar?"

"Wild and rare and with a certain natural refinement," Hannibal purrs, and Will rolls his eyes even as his face goes hot.

"Does the Cannibal talk about food the way you do?"

"Not quite," Hannibal says, "but his opinion on your blood might be surprisingly poetic. If we're doing that," he adds, and Will laughs.

"We're doing that. I've been stabbed, I'm not going to cry over a little blood."

"If it's not a great deal sexier than a stabbing, we don't have to do it," Hannibal says, and Will laughs.

"Thanks, sugar," he says, and Hannibal chuckles. "You should do the same tests, 'cause I heard that nice boys swallow." Hannibal cackles at this, and takes a long time to collect himself enough to finish eating.

Will insists on cleaning up afterward, ordering Hannibal to stretch out on the couch and let the dogs love him. He does, and Will scrubs and puts everything away before he goes out to join Hannibal where he's lying on the couch and cradling Kit's big head in his hands, crooning to him in Lithuanian. Will smiles, and crouches beside the dog, scratching him behind the ears and then turning to gather Querida into his lap.

"I was so happy to discover that you had dogs," Hannibal murmurs.

"You sure seemed happy," Will agrees, patting Winston as he nuzzles into Will's shoulder.

"I'd say that we all like animals, even Dr. Lecter, he just can't enjoy them as much because he's always fretting about germs. More importantly, I was glad that you weren't alone." Will doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything, just leaning against the couch and petting the gathered dogs. Kit shuffles off to take a break from all the attention, flopping down by the fire, and Winston takes his place, wagging his tail. Hannibal chuckles. "And I know you care about his welfare in particular, don't you?"

"Winston is a genius of his kind," Will allows, and Hannibal smiles. Winston is beaming, tail gently waving as Hannibal pets him.

"I was also pleased to see a pack of this size so well-behaved," he says, and Will smiles.

"We do our best."

Hannibal does end up spending the night, in the big bed in living room. It has been a long time since Will was with anyone who could gather him up and spoon him like this. It's comforting, and he takes Hannibal's hand in both his own, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it. Hannibal sighs and nuzzles his face into Will's hair. 

"Goodnight, dearest," he murmurs, and it makes Will nervous and elated at the same time. He has to listen to Hannibal and the dogs breathing softly in the dark for a long time before he's able to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the image referred to: http://dailypicksandflicks.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/Evil-Otter-Eating-a-Watermelon-5.jpg


	13. Chapter 13

Will is used to having fits of commitaphobic panic whenever he starts to get close to someone, and has learned to deal with it. A shared shower and an expert handjob before breakfast are a tremendous help in regaining his equilibrium. Hannibal consults his work phone, which is the white twin of the black one Will usually sees him with, and takes a few notes.

"Nobody was having a nervous breakdown at three am, I hope," Will says, and Hannibal smiles.

"No, Will, not this particular morning. I do have an arrangement to text encouragement to one of my anxiety cases. Sometimes they need a bit of a pep talk to get out of the house and into my office in the first place."

"Too bad they feel like that and can't shake it off," Will says.

"I'm not surprised that you can relate," Hannibal tells him

"Yeah, but for me taking a deep breath and counting to ten actually helps." He regrets it the second he says it, and Hannibal gives him a long, cool, doctorish look. "Don't psychoanalyze me," Will growls, and Hannibal smiles sadly.

"I wouldn't presume, darling. Are you feeling calm today?"

"Yeah, getting jerked off in the shower is a big help with that."

"I'll make a mental note of it for future reference," Hannibal murmurs, and Will laughs.

The work week flashes by, with weird texts from the Cannibal and Hannibal spending more time at Will's than at home. It takes a while for Will to get his own extracurricular blood draw arranged, but over his lunch break on the next Tuesday he has just enough time to leave a few vials at the clinic. He feels headachey and irritable afterward, and gnaws on a granola bar as he sits in his office and waits for someone to have a goddamn question.

"Come in!" he calls at a knock on his office door. It opens to admit Hannibal, full of boyish glee at Will's surprise. He's actually carrying a little basket over his arm like Little Red Ridinghood or something, and Will has to smile.

"I'll try not to stay long enough to interfere," Hannibal says, setting the basket on Will's desk and pulling up the other chair, "but I thought you might like some real food to build you back up."

Will isn't sure of the true medical efficacy of summer sausage, cheese, crackers, and red wine, but he does feel better after consuming them. Hannibal watches him eat with his usual weirdly comfortable focus. "I think I should make you dinner," he says, and Will chuckles. 

"You won't get any argument from me."

Hannibal smiles. "Good."

That night he makes Will a soup called juka, made dark and rich with blood and crumbled black bread. It's weird, but it's also pretty good, and apparently real Lithuanian home cooking. Hannibal tells Will about some of his non-horrific childhood memories of growing up on an ancient estate that despite being picked clean by the Soviets, still had some grandeur and even a few horses. He doesn't mention any human family by name, but does tell Will about holding his baby sister up high enough to pat the velvety noses of the old, long-suffering horses.

"I take Little Sister to petting zoos, sometimes," he adds after a sort silence. "The poor child doesn't get enough time at the front, but she can have it an environment like that."

"I can see it now," Will says, smiling at him. "It's absolutely precious."

"I think I do have a picture of us with a sheep," he says, and fetches his phone out of his jacket, skimming through his photos. By the time Will has the table cleared, Hannibal has found it. Will leans on the back of his chair to see, and smiles fondly. Hannibal is crouched beside a white sheep with a black face and ears, beaming with Little Sister's open countenance and golden eyes as the animal attempts to consume his lapel. "It decided that we were its new best friend," Hannibal says. "Even after it was put in the back pen to rest, it came to the wire and followed us around. Little Sister wanted us to try and buy it, despite having nowhere to keep it. You know how children are."

"Poor kid," Will says, and kisses the top of Hannibal's head. "She can pet the dogs as much as she likes."

"Thank you, dearest," Hannibal says, and pockets his phone. "I really would like to stay the night, but the doctor has another early morning."

"Can't win 'em all," Will murmurs. 

He helps Hannibal to gather his things, and walks him out to his car, trying not to feel his solitude when he gets back into the house. Maybe it is time to make another key. That's a step Will hasn't taken in... ever. He's very glad to have so many dogs when they all pile onto the bed around him, warm and alive and soothing.

The blood panel comes back on Friday, and Will is clear on all counts, and thereby good enough to eat. He shivers at the thought, and texts his results to Hannibal.

 _the cannibal is trying to steal the phone again,_ Hannibal replies, _but we're all happy to hear that._

 _he really doesn't bother me, hannibal._ Will isn't sure when or if he should admit that the Cannibal's deranged and anatomically-inadvisable dirty talk is sort of hot, but decides that now is not the time. Hannibal might have extrapolated it by now anyway, from Will's failure to run screaming for the hills. 

They agree to have Will's dinner date with the Cannibal on Saturday night, and that day Will runs the dogs for a long time. He wants them tired and incurious if their master is going to be shedding blood this evening, and they all flop into a massive sleepy pile when he leads them back into the house at last. That done, he wipes down the kitchen table, takes a shower, and hauls on clean underwear and the soft, fleecy pajama bottoms Beverly gave him Christmas before last. 

He feels keyed up, nervous and excited in equal measure. Hannibal has said that he'll bring a couple bloodletting options, so Will doesn't worry about finding a razor blade or disinfecting a thumbtack. He jumps at a knock on the door, and then takes a deep breath and goes to let Hannibal in. The dogs barely activate, a few of them raising their heads and Buster letting out one bark as Hannibal comes in. And it is Hannibal, even though he's carrying the doctor's leather bag.

"Good evening, Will," he says softly, and takes his time over kissing him hello.


	14. Chapter 14

Hannibal sets the bag on Will's kitchen table, and pulls out a scalpel and a syringe. "A small cut or a needle stick are the two easiest options," he says. "The doctor will be here whichever you choose. He's convinced that we'll need his medical expertise."

"That's kinda sweet," Will says. "I guess the syringe is our best bet. Take some out of my left arm and squirt it into a shot glass, maybe?"

Hannibal laughs. "I've heard worse plans. Whatever we do will excite him, do we have your permission to ravish you afterward?"

"So long as you don't take too much blood," Will says, settling into one of the two kitchen chairs.

"It's best to only drink small amounts," Hannibal says, setting out disinfectant wipes, medical tape, and sterile gauze. He pauses, and looks at Will again, his eyes their usual deep amber. "You may decide against this at any point, Will."

"Hell, I'm not gonna cock-tease the Cannibal, and if total strangers can take my blood without me fussing, I can give him a little. C'mon, stick me," he says, stretching his forearm out on the tabletop, palm up.

Hannibal chuckles. "My rare and precious boy," he says, and opens one of the wipes, sitting down in the other chair and swabbing the crook of Will's elbow. It's cold, as usual, and he shivers. Hannibal uncaps the syringe, and Will can see the green flecks of the doctor in his eyes as he pushes the plunger forward and then slips the needle into Will's skin so deftly that he almost doesn't feel it. There's barely any sting, and then the ache of a pierced vein. Will shivers again, biting his lip and watching as Hannibal pulls the plunger back and fills the syringe with rich, shimmering red. Will is always surprised by how beautiful his own blood is, when he sees it in a syringe or a vial. 

Hannibal seems struck by it too, his eyes glowing reddish. "Beautiful," he purrs, and Will shivers, breaking into a light sweat. 

The ache of the needle in his arm is turning strange on him, and he's not sure if he feels more queasy or turned on. He squirms a little, and the doctor is suddenly back, carefully removing the syringe and pressing gauze to the little wound. "There," the doctor says softly, "hold that down." Will holds it down, and the doctor sets the full syringe onto a paper towel, which catches a single droplet of blood that blooms into the white, like a rose in the snow. The doctor tapes the gauze in place and then pauses for a moment before pressing the back of his hand to Will's forehead, studying him with green-flecked eyes. "All right?" he asks softly, and Will smiles.

"Aw, you do care."

"...I have become fond of you, Will," he says. "I don't like to think of the Cannibal imposing upon you."

Will laughs. "Hey, I'll be fine. You should get him a glass before it goes cold."

"Beast," the doctor mutters, but he gets up and retrieves a shot glass, removing the needle and spraying the blood into it. He may be irked with the Cannibal, but he is very careful not to let the blood foam. Will swallows, watching it flow and then stop. There's a gold-toned glimmer to the fluid that he has never been able to account for. Once all the blood is in the glass, the doctor vanishes to leave Hannibal and the Cannibal sitting in his chair. Those amber eyes are very close to red, and Hannibal favors him with a friendly leer that makes him shiver.

"You ready?" Will murmurs, and Hannibal chuckles.

"Absolutely." He plucks up the shot glass in one elegant hand, and smiles at Will. "Your health, darling," he purrs, and then slowly, slowly sips the red liquid. 

Will watches him and watches the blood where it leaves slips on the glass the way milk does. Hannibal purrs as he drinks, and downs the last few drops with a happy shiver. There's a little blood on his lips when he sets the glass down, and Will refuses to examine exactly why it's so important to him to lean over and kiss it off, rich and salty-sweet. Hannibal sighs and sags into him, everything boneless but his arms, hauling Will out of his chair and into Hannibal's lap. Will goes easily, and whimpers as Hannibal devours his mouth. He's hard already and he feels that for once, he's the bigger freak of the two of them. Hannibal just purrs and squeezes his ass, gripping and kneading as he bites Will's neck and then kisses him again.

"So tassssty," he murmurs, and Will laughs, the sound cracked and helpless as Hannibal nibbles on the edge of his ear.

"G-g-glad you like it," he whispers, and bites his lip as Hannibal shifts his grip, one arm around Will's waist as he slides the other hand up his shirt.

"Let me to do that," Hannibal says softly, and licks at Will's mouth until Will releases his lower lip. Hannibal bites it gently, and Will moans as Hannibal pinches his nipple, slow and hard and vicious. He clutches at Hannibal's shoulders and lets out a high-pitched noise that he isn't sure how to classify. He does it again and then again as Hannibal bites his throat and holds on.

"Fffuck," Will gasps when Hannibal lets go, with fingers and with teeth.

"I'd love to," Hannibal rumbles, putting a sucking kiss over Will's rapid pulse. "Upstairs, for the modesty of your dogs?"

"I tired them out on purpose," Will says, kissing Hannibal's forehead, "but yeah." He isn't sure what he's expecting, but it definitely isn't to be carried. He yelps and clings as Hannibal stands and shifts Will into his arms in the classic bridal hold. Hannibal laughs softly, kissing Will's cheek and heading for the stairs. "I didn't know you could carry me," Will mutters, halfway up, and Hannibal grins at him.

"You're very light, Will."

Hannibal definitely carries Will like he's light, setting him down gently on the upstairs bed, arms perfectly controlled. He stands up with a happy, bouncy energy that makes Will laugh and reach for him. He lets Will pull him down, growling happily as he tugs Will's shirt off.

"I want to fuck you properly," he says, "but I don't think either of us has the patience right now."

"I know I don't," Will says, and Hannibal laughs as he watches Will wriggle out of his pants before desperately attacking his own.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's getting pretty heavy around here.

It's a testament to how badly Hannibal wants this that he doesn't even get his socks off. It kind of works because he's wearing the old-school kind with garters, and then Will doesn't have time to think about that kind of thing because Hannibal has him pinned to the bed and is rutting along his cock like he'll die if he stops. Will wraps around him and bites his shoulder to muffle himself as the headboard rattles against the wall.

Hannibal growls softly about how delicious Will is, how rich and silky his blood is, how his heart must be a perfect jewel, pulsing with near-black blood. "I want to get my teeth on it," he growls, and Will lets out a breathless laugh, clutching at him. Hannibal lets out a breathless apology and Will just laughs again, breaking off into a moan as he comes. Hannibal fucks him through it until Will's soft cock starts to hurt, and then shifts to come all over Will's thigh, groaning quietly. He stretches out on his side and gathers Will into his arms, both of the trembling as they catch their breath.

"I'm sorry the Cannibal is so weird," Hannibal mutters at last, and Will snickers.

"Baby, if weird was gonna put me off, it would have already happened." Apparently this is the wrong thing to say, because Hannibal tenses up. "...Hannibal?" Will murmurs, pulling back to look up at him.

Hannibal sighs, stroking Will's hair. "You don't know the whole truth yet. I can't be sure it won't be too much."

"It was a pretty thick file," Will says, and Hannibal snorts.

"I keep our top-secret origin story in the back. I gave it in Lithuanian, it was translated into Russian for the orphanage personnel, and a kind Red Cross volunteer wrote it up in English, for future reference. There's also the transcript of me telling Dr. Pazzi about it in English."

Will kisses the livid bite mark on Hannibal's shoulder. "I know something terrible happened, Hannibal, I won't judge you for how you got through it."

Hannibal sighs. "I'll show you tomorrow," he says softly, and clings to Will like his life depends on it. Will just holds him close, and tries to soothe him. After a while the itch of drying semen drives them to get up, and they cram into Will's little shower together, kissing under the hot water and passing the washcloth back and forth.

There's no question about Hannibal spending the night, and as they shuffle around in bathrobes he stays as physically close to Will as he can. There's no outward sign of Little Sister, but Will makes some hot chocolate anyway. Hannibal cuddles close as they sit by the fire and sip the creamy brew, and Will kisses the top of his head and does not tell him that he's pretty sure he'll love him no matter what happens. It seems cheap to say it now, and he settles for just holding Hannibal instead.

They sleep in the living room, dogs piled up around them, and Will wakes up to the rattling of pans. "I haven't fed your dogs," Hannibal calls, "because I'm not positive how much each one gets."

"I'll show you sometime," Will says, and gets up to feed the pack and let them outside. By the time he's done with that, Hannibal is offering him a plate of crepes and bacon. He thanks him and kisses his cheek, settling at the kitchen table, feeling Hannibal's gaze on him as he eats. It's more intense than usual, like Hannibal is storing it up for when Will dumps him.

"My last appointment finishes at half-past five," Hannibal says, sitting down with his own plate. "Come to my office at six?"

"Sure," Will says softly.

Both of them put on their game faces for the workday, and Will actually manages not to think about it for hours at a time. He's still pretty wound up by the time he's on his way to Hannibal's office, and does his best to look like a normal person as Hannibal's secretary asks if he's expecting Will Graham. He is, of course, and comes out to collect Will and to wish the woman a pleasant evening, promising to lock up behind himself. She leaves and everything is suddenly way too quiet. The silence between Will and Hannibal has never been uncomfortable before, and Will's skin crawls with it as Hannibal shuts the office door and Will takes the second chair. Hannibal's file is already resting on the desk, a sticky note marking some documents on the very bottom of the pile. Will flips the file over and waits for Hannibal, who settles in his chair and sighs, cupping his chin in his hands.

"You might as well begin, Will," he says. Will nods, and opens the file, pulling out the Red Cross translation and the relevant Pazzi transcript. "Start with the Red Cross document," Hannibal says. "It has more of the facts." His voice has an odd, almost buzzing quality, like more than one voice in harmony and his eyes are nearly black in the dim light.

"...Who are you right now?" Will asks, switching the desk lamp on to get a good look at the documents.

"Everyone," Hannibal says. "It is not comfortable."

"I'll try to read fast," Will says, and turns his eyes to the text. Apparently there had been a breakout at some Soviet gulag, and a handful of men who really deserved to be there had descended on the Lecter estate, almost defenseless in its post-Soviet poverty. After killing the adults, there had been vague plans to ransom the children. Those plans had fallen apart as the food supplies dwindled, and at last they had butchered little Mischa Lecter like a spring lamb and cooked her in her own little copper bathtub. Half-starved, Hannibal had eaten, and that night the fugitives had had a falling out, killing one another. Hannibal had walked away in the morning, and been found mute and bloodstained in the middle of the road, a chain around his neck.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Will breathes. His stomach is knotted up and his skin is covered in waves of goosebumps. He looks over at Hannibal, still dark-eyed and remote. "So that's why Little Sister..."

"There's nothing else left of her," Hannibal says in that buzzing voice. "Just pearly little teeth in the latrine."

"God, Hannibal..." Will feels too horrible for tears, those will come later.

"The Sin-Eater carries our shame and self-hatred. The Cannibal was just glad to have meat again. The doctor remembers the facts, and Little Sister and Hannibal are protected and don't have to bear it."

It really does feel like Will's heart is breaking, a sharp, sickening ache in his chest.


	16. Chapter 16

Will does not fall into Hannibal's arms sobbing. He reads the Pazzi transcript instead, a little lightheaded with horror. The opening sentences are sort of cute, with a very young Cannibal demanding candy, but things quickly turn fucked up.

"I spent four years at the orphanage, due to difficulties in identifying me," Hannibal says. "With my apparent lapses of intellectual function, they weren't sure if I was really Hannibal Lecter or not, and Soviet Bureaucracy was no help. I never told them the whole truth, but I told Pazzi. I think he was afraid of me afterward."

Will pauses, looking up at him. "God, Hannibal..."

"Keep reading."

Will obeys. Back in 1972, what must be the Cannibal tells Pazzi about his escape from the shed where he was imprisoned, creeping through the night to kill each of his captors in turn, exulting in the spilling blood, and consuming the missing pieces that were attributed to scavenging animals. Will's eyes sting, and he has to set the file down to scrub at them with the back of his hand.

"What do you think of us now?" Hannibal asks, and Will stands up, going around the desk and sitting in Hannibal's lap. He tugs his head down and kisses him, holding it for a long time before he relaxes and rests his head on Hannibal's shoulder.

"Yesterday it seemed tacky to tell you I love you," he says, "but I do. And this hasn't done anything to change that."

Hannibal shudders and clings to him. They just sit like that for a long time, and this silence isn't uncomfortable at all. "Come home with me," Will murmurs after a while. "I don't think you should be alone, after dealing with this shit."

"I'm never _really_ alone, Will," Hannibal says, his voice back to normal, and Will chuckles.

"Still. Maybe I don't want to be alone, either."

"Maybe not," Hannibal concedes, and kisses the top of his head. "I love you too, just so you know."

"Thanks," Will murmurs, and they spend another few minutes finding the strength to get up and drive their separate cars home. Will beats Hannibal there, so he can get the door unlocked and pacify the beasts before Hannibal joins them. The dogs swarm around him to express their delight at seeing him again, and his eyes are golden as he pets them and babytalks to them in Lithuanian.

"I need to get you your own key," Will says softly, and Hannibal beams at him, clearly sharing space with Little Sister.

"Really?"

"Yeah. You're always welcome, and that way you could check on the dogs for me when I need to go out of town."

Hannibal comes over and gives him a huge hug, clinging for a long time. Will rubs his back, and guides him to the couch. "Coffee or hot chocolate, honey?"

"...Can we mix them?" he asks, so timidly that Will is touched even as he laughs.

"Of course we can," he says softly, and kisses the top of Hannibal's head before going to the kitchen and getting to work. The hot chocolate is the kind his dad used to make, with half and half and cocoa powder. It mixes well with coffee, and Will carries two enormous mugs out to where Hannibal is sitting surrounded by the dogs. He leans into them like he's cold, and they lean right back, tails gently waving. Will passes Hannibal his drink over their heads, and he takes it in both grateful hands.

"Thank you, Will," he says softly, and Will smiles, settling in and being swarmed by the remaining dogs.

"You're welcome," he says, and they just sit the watch the fire for a while, feeling the complete lack of change between them. 

It gets dark, and it gets late, and they stay where they are, wrapped in warm fur and canine love. At last, long after both mugs of quasi-mocha are drained, Hannibal slowly extracts himself from the dogs. They make small noises of complaint, but then eagerly follow him to the kitchen. Will stretches out on the couch and dozes for a while, opening his eyes again when Hannibal gently shakes him. He realizes that he really is hungry, the kind of state where he skips dinner and then wakes up at three am feeling like his stomach is touching his backbone.

Hannibal has made a heavy, comforting casserole out of whatever he could find, and the result is eclectic but tasty. They demolish a heavy portion of it and then go to bed, for once not up to any fooling around. Will just holds Hannibal and rubs his back, feeling almost like he's holding a child, and knowing that Little Sister is close to the surface. Hannibal sighs and cuddles in against Will's chest, easing his way down to sleep. At first Will has a hard time following him, but listening his breath and the small sleep noises of the dogs, Will goes under at last. No nightmares are waiting for him, despite the horrible disclosures of the day.

Will wakes up to the smell of coffee, and Hannibal brings it to him along with buttered toast and a soft-boiled egg on the old bed tray that he never uses. He beams when Will thanks him, and kisses his cheek. 

"Definitely making you a key," Will mutters, and Hannibal laughs. 

Will tries to be a man of his word, and later that day he has a copy of his house key made. He gets a Hello Kitty fob to attach it to, because he's that kind of jerk. Hannibal just think it's funny, of course, and Little Sister loves it. Naturally, after this Hannibal's personal effects start showing up in Will's space, one at a time. An extra toothbrush, pairs of socks, books, a bag of truffles in the refrigerator... The really telling thing is that Will doesn't mind. 

"Holy shit," Beverly says, walking in for the second ever Will-hosted Lab Rat Movie Night, looking around at the art supplies, culinary magazines, and small articles of clothing that Hannibal has left in his wake, "it must be love."

"When are we gonna meet this guy, anyway?" Zeller asks, bringing in what is probably more liquor than they'll need, even with Jimmy here.

"I need more data points to build my portrait of your type," Jimmy adds, following Zeller with DVD cases in one hand and microwave popcorn in the other. "So far all I have is 'intense,' and 'extroverted.'"

"What you need is a hobby," Will tells him, moving some of Hannibal's books off of the coffee table.

"That is my hobby," Jimmy says, and flops onto one end of the couch. "Do we want to start with Labyrinth, or Willow? Because we're definitely watching both."


	17. Chapter 17

"My friends want to meet you," Will tells Hannibal, the pair of them sprawled on the porch in the hope of catching a breeze on this brutally hot summer day. "Well, Beverly and her friends who have partially adopted me. They're all lab rats together, still working for the FBI. You'll probably like Jimmy, he's a fussy old queen like you. Zeller's kind of a prick, but he cares about the important things and is very kind to my dogs."

"And we all know how important that is," Hannibal says softly, smiling at him. It's too hot to cuddle, but the urge is still there, and Will sighs. The ice clinks in Hannibal's glass, and he swirls it listlessly. "The idea seems like far too much effort for any rational person, but I'm sure I'll be interested when I'm cooler."

"It's Beverly's mom I was buying napa cabbage for," Will says, and Hannibal beams at him.

"In that case, beloved, I'd like to meet the whole family."

Will chuckles. "There are a lot of them, it's best to do it in stages."

"Mm, I suppose. I'd like to introduce you to my aunt, but since that involves travel to Japan, I'm willing to wait a while. She was my uncle's much-younger wife," he adds, "we probably have a few decades."

"Good to know," Will says, and yawns. Kit yawns as well, lying in the shade of Will's chair. Querida is curled up in Hannibal's lap, because she's small enough for him to bear her body heat on a day like today. "I'll try not to embarrass you in front of Japan," he adds, yawning again, and Hannibal laughs.

"I have faith in you, darling," he says. "More enhanced lemonade when I can get up?" The lemonade is made from freshly-squeezed Meyer lemons, and the enhancement is limoncello. It's very smooth, and perfect for the weather.

"Please," Will says, and they fall silent for a while longer before Hannibal rises, setting poor disgruntled Querida aside. He emerges in a few minutes, fresh ice floating in both glasses. Will thanks him, taking his drink with both hands and propping up enough to drink it without spilling.

"You should invite them over for dinner," Hannibal says. "I'll feed them something lovely and we can walk the dogs or have movie night, depending on the weather."

"And depending how bloated those desperate jackals get on your cooking. Beverly has a mother to look after her, but for Price and Zeller, real food is something that happens to other people." This isn't entirely true, Jimmy is capable of basic plain cookery, but he never has the time for it.

"All the more reason to feed them," Hannibal says, and the two of them fall silent for a bit.

"Should I tell them there's five of you," Will asks after a while, "or not?"

"Mm. I'm not sure," Hannibal says. "I would hate to become any more the center of attention than I already will be, but some of the others might get away from me. Little Sister loves company, and you know how the Cannibal is."

"He's totally going to want to fuck Beverly, don't let him be a creeper at her."

"I won't," Hannibal says, very seriously, and Will heaves himself up to knee by Hannibal's chair, pulling him down to kiss him. "I did write a whole book about it," Hannibal murmurs, and Will chuckles.

"I still can't believe you did that to yourselves."

"Someone had to," Hannibal says, shrugging and running his fingers through Will's hair. "There's a reason I only did it three years ago."

Will nods, leaning into Hannibal's touch. "I should probably tell them. Beverly is the person I really talk to besides you."

"Then she ought to be briefed," Hannibal agrees. "Will they be skeptical?"

"Zeller might, but he's not actually an asshole, and Jimmy can rein him in."

They talk about it off and on for the rest of the day, languid with the heat, only slightly relieved by sunset. They eat dinner on the porch with their shirts off, and watch the fireflies, Hannibal murmuring about how dangerous that luminous mating game is, how other species send false signals to lure prey.

"Bugs always have terrible sex," Will mutters, and Hannibal laughs.

The next day the heat eases a little, and they can finish moving Hannibal in. He still spends some time at his own enormous house, but now almost everything he really cares about or uses every day is at Will's. It's a comfortable kind of feeling, even if Will feels a little guilty about all that unused space and about the various kitchen appliances that can't be easily wedged into his own setup. Hannibal seems to be adapting well, anyway, and has more than once expressed his gratitude for the fish Will catches.

During the summer session, Will only has one lecture a week, so after hauling in a last box of books for Hannibal, he's free to stretch out on the couch and take the kind of midday nap his father used to. At least Will isn't a damn liar and doesn't claim to be just resting his eyes. He has another little pang of missing Dad at the thought, but soon drifts into a soothing dream of being warm in the snow.

When Will opens his eyes again, the whole house is so quiet that he jumps up to make sure that the dogs are all right. They seem to be, but they're sitting in a silent semi-circle around Hannibal, who's sitting on the edge of the bed. His head is bowed and his eyes are closed, zipping from side to side behind closed lids. It looks like REM sleep, but his spine is very straight, and he's breathing much too fast to be asleep.

"...Hannibal?" Will asks, coming closer. Hannibal doesn't respond, and his fingers twitch spastically where his hands are resting on his thighs. 

"Hannibal!" Will bellows, as loud as he can. The dogs flinch and skitter away from him, but Hannibal doesn't react in any way. 

"...Fuck," Will mutters, and sits on the bed beside Hannibal, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a hard shake. His fingers twitch faster and he drools just a little, but nothing else happens. It might be an atypical seizure of some kind, Will can't be sure. He hauls off and slaps Hannibal with panicky strength, leaving a red hand print on his cheek and turning his head to the side. Just as Will is scrambling for Hannibal's phone to call 911, Hannibal turns his head back to forward, and cracks one eye, which is full of green flecks.

"There is a meeting in progress," Dr. Lecter growls, sounding deeply exasperated with Will's lack of respect for procedure. Will stares at him, and that one eye blinks, Hannibal's vacant face frowning. "You hit us," he adds, shocked and offended as this new information filters in.

Will grimaces. "I know, I'm sorry. I panicked."

"Don't," the doctor says, and closes his eye, head dropping forward again and fingers twitching more slowly.

"...Asshole," Will mutters, and stands up, crooning apologies to the dogs and pouring himself a drink, sipping it as he distributes treats and Hannibal jitters and nods, spit gleaming on his lower lip. "Jeez, Hannibal," Will says quietly, and takes a paper towel over to him, wiping his mouth since nothing short of violence seems to wake him up anyway.


	18. Chapter 18

The meeting takes hours. Will has the feeling that he should be getting on with his life, but Hannibal is so vulnerable this way that Will can't leave him, so he spends the afternoon sitting around and waiting for his unresponsive boyfriend to snap the fuck out of it. While he waits, he applies some ice to Hannibal's cheek to keep it from bruising, and finishes his current fly. The dogs crowd around him, despondent at not getting walked.

"Sorry, guys," he says softly, petting each of them in turn.

When Hannibal finally comes back, it's a bit of a process. He goes completely still, snorts, shudders, and then sways a little, supporting himself with his hands on his knees as he yawns and blinks, looking like someone waking from a deep sleep. "Ugh," he mutters, sounding like his mouth is dry, "what time is it?"

"Quarter past five," Will says, and he grimaces.

"I'm sorry, Will. I thought this would take much less time than it has."

"Warn a guy," Will mutters, cranky because he's been scared and the doctor was no goddamn help.

"I should have," Hannibal says, and comes to the couch to hug him tightly. Will relaxes a little, and lets Hannibal gather him into his lap. "I'm sorry I frightened you, Will."

"Sorry I slapped you," Will mutters, and Hannibal laughs.

"I'll forgive you for that one. At least you didn't actually call an ambulance."

"The doctor informed me that there was a meeting in progress."

"Poor boy," Hannibal says, kissing his cheek. "I wish someone more sympathetic had found their way to the front. I'm sorry the doctor was cold."

"It's okay," Will mutters. "So was that like, a house meeting for your brain? Everybody talking over the issues together?"

"Pretty much," Hannibal says, kissing him again. "We have to talk over each major disclosure together, since we have to work as a team."

"And the verdict?"

"That friends of yours can obviously tolerate a certain amount of psychological strangeness, and, in the word of the Cannibal, 'fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.'"

Will laughs, cuddling close. "I really do like that weird bastard," he says softly, and Hannibal chuckles.

"You enchant us all, Will."

Hannibal holds Will for a long time, and then helps him walk the dogs, declaring that it's the least he can do for keeping their master at home all day. On the way back, Will calls Beverly to invite her to dinner and to let her know that he has something really weird to tell her.

"Will," she says, "with you I'm always ready for weird. If you want to be face to face, you can totally stop by tomorrow afternoon and tell me all about it over a margarita, 'kay?"

"Okay," Will says.

Beverly's apartment is always too hot in the summer, but a blender full of booze and crushed ice is a big help. She has a tiny balcony, and they drape themselves over the railing, drinking from Solo cups so they won't kill anyone if they lose their grip. Beverly's hair is twisted up into a messy and careless knot on the top of her head, and she takes a long pull from her cup.

"Okay, Graham," she says, "what's up? Is he secretly married? Has terrible PTSD and we shouldn't mention clowns around him because he'll have a nervous breakdown?"

Will laughs. "Not quite, but thanks for your consideration. And he does have a traumatic history that I'm not going into right now."

"Sure," she says, gesturing with her cup for him to continue.

"He dealt with it in a dissociative identity kind of way."

"...So there's more than one of him?" she asks, eyes huge.

"Yes! Five, I guess, two of them aren't allowed to play with me."

"Oh, wow, talk about some complicated romantic calculus."

"You don't even know," Will agrees, downing as much of his drink as he can without brain freeze. "You'll probably just meet Hannibal, but if he gets all weird and formal or starts acting like a little kid, he's not just being an asshole."

"Got it," Beverly says. "You want us to bring anything to dinner?"

"If you can throw together some of that fruit salad ice stuff...."

"Patbingsu?"

"Yeah, that," Will says, having given up on ever pronouncing Korean years ago.

"I've actually been craving it because it's so hot out, you guys can be my excuse," she says, drooping over the railing in a bid to catch a nonexistent breeze. "Besides, I like the performance art of cracking the ice."

Will grins, drooping over with her. "Hannibal will understand that."

"I think he's good for you," she says seriously, gravity making her hair look like some kind of deranged spider plant.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He feeds you and he likes your dogs and you act like a man who's finally getting laid on the regular," Beverly says. "So what if there's five of him?"

Will laughs. "Thanks, Katz."

"You're welcome," she says, and stands up to fetch them another round.

Naturally, Zeller is on the hostile end of skeptical, but Jimmy and Beverly lean on him for a while and he agrees to be on his best behavior. At the end of the day, Zeller was raised right, and Will actually has a lot of faith in his ability to be civil to Hannibal. When the time comes, he carries Beverly's block of ice up the steps for her and greets Hannibal with a smile. Jimmy hauls the reusable grocery bag with the other ingredients, and the first thing he says to Hannibal is an expansive but sincere compliment on his fabulous suit, after which he starts cooing nonsense to the happy dogs. 

Hannibal comes forward to take the bag, and Will introduces him to two out of three of the lab rats. Beverly arrives a moment later, carefully carrying the heavy meat cleaver she uses to shave the ice. It's a mean-looking thing, and probably would take off somebody's toe if she dropped it. She sets it on the counter and shakes Hannibal's hand, beaming when he says he's looking forward to her interpretation of the dish.


	19. Chapter 19

Over dinner, everyone gets to know Hannibal, and all of them are some mixture of incredulous and charmed, which is a fairly sane response to Hannibal. Will sees a few signs of the others in his eyes, but none of their guests seem to notice. They're busy devouring his cooking and telling him about work and listening to what he can tell them about his job. Will isn't actually expecting the whole issue of multiplicity to even come up, but of course Zeller asks about it, about how Hannibal's patients deal with it.

"Well," Hannibal says, pouring a little more wine for Beverly, "they generally only interact with the most professional of us. There is a certain amount of freak show value, but I get rid of those as fast as I can, and I try to be kind to the multiples who seek me out as a sympathetic ear. Many of them are performative or iatrogenic, but we've been able to help some people like us, which is always satisfying."

"I've always wondered about that," Jimmy says, "how people get talked around."

This is of course a beautiful opening for Hannibal's standard lecture on iatrogenic multiples and the cultural and emotional factors that allow patient-therapist confabulation to happen. Will has heard it, but it's pretty interesting, and he's pleased with his friends for listening with respectful attention and real interest.

Hannibal wraps it up in time for dessert, and while Will and Jimmy clear the table, Zeller helps Beverly stage the patbingsu. "My mom really likes the red bean kind," Beverly says, "but I think this recipe is more cooling. And white people like it better," she adds, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

"I shared many a bean jam bun with my Japanese sister, growing up," Hannibal says, "but she did always seem to enjoy them more."

Beverly laughs, and starts to shave the ice. She's good at it, and the cleaver is heavy, so soon there are five bowls of lovely white almost-snow. Beverly mixes sugar and lemon with plain yogurt, shaking the stuff together in a jar while Zeller carefully puts fresh berries on each bed of ice.

"This is about as traditionally Korean as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich," Beverly says, spooning a generous portion of the yogurt mixture into each bowl, "and it's completely delicious, if I say it myself." 

A dusting of toasted coconut on top, and it's done. Everyone takes their bowl and adjourns to the porch, because it's another hot night. Will has had many different versions of this dessert, but this one is his favorite, and he thanks Beverly before inhaling his own portion. Hannibal eats slowly and carefully, considering each mouthful and talking to Beverly about flavor and texture pairings. The dogs settle around Will's seat, looking hopeful but not begging. Will softly tells them that they're silly, and wouldn't eat this even if they were offered some. Querida decides that she'll at least demand some affection, and Zeller scoops her up as soon as she asks.

"Hey, pretty girl," he coos, almost too quiet to hear. Will smiles, watching him cuddle and pet Querida, always gentle with her left front paw, so easy to re-injure. Jimmy smiles softly at him, with none of the bright, sarcastic quality that usually colors the expression, and Will is still parsing the meaning of that when Beverly suggests that they walk the pack. It's too hot to go for a long one, but the dogs are delighted to walk with five whole people, tails wagging as they range around sniffing and marking things. The moon is out, golden and brooding, and Will smiles as Hannibal takes his hand. He blinks when Beverly takes the other, and she laughs.

"I just don't want to be a total fifth wheel," she says quietly, and looking ahead, Will can see that Jimmy is holding Zeller's hand, lacing their fingers together.

"I'll be damned," Will mutters, and Beverly laughs again.

They ramble under the moon with the dogs for longer than they planned to, but at last they turn back toward the house. Zeller lets go of Jimmy before they reach the porch again, but it looks more shy than closeted, so Will isn't going to have to threaten his life. Will makes sure that the dogs have plenty of water as the others clean up, feeling absurdly like a real adult householder. He walks everyone to the door, helping to be sure that Beverly has all of her things and then watching as they load up into Zeller's car. He holds the back door open for her as Jimmy slides into the shotgun seat, and Will smiles, turning back to the house as they head out of the driveway.

"I think they're a very pleasant group," Hannibal says, pouring himself a last glass of wine. "You were absolutely right about the Cannibal, though."

"What, that he wants to fuck Beverly?" Will asks, joining Hannibal in the kitchen and insinuating himself under his arm as he grabs the wine, swigging the last bit straight from the bottle.

"Yes, my beautiful savage," Hannibal says, and Will snorts.

"Well, she is pretty hot."

"He was saying the most terrible things to me all night, but the Sin-Eater hates sexuality and helped me keep him back."

"Poor guy," Will says. "It sounds like he works hard."

"He does, but he often works hard at punishing the rest of us for existing," Hannibal says, and Will sighs, setting the bottle aside and hugging him properly as he finishes his share of the wine.

"Tell him his shift is over and come to bed," Will says, partially muffled in Hannibal's shirt. Hannibal chuckles, and sets his empty glass aside to wrap his arms around Will.

"That is an excellent idea," he says softly, and lets Will tow him to the bed. They strip and then sprawl on top of the covers, and Will sighs as the air conditioning switches on.

"Finally. I think I've got that set too high."

"Perhaps," Hannibal murmurs, not opening his eyes. Will shifts closer, and rests his head on Hannibal's chest, listening to his heartbeat. Hannibal purrs, and wraps an arm around Will as he nuzzles into his hair. He says something in Japanese, and Will squirms.

"That was really mushy, wasn't it?" he asks.

"Yes, beloved," Hannibal says, sounding deeply amused.

"Don't be a dick, Hannibal," Will mutters, and he laughs.

"I love everything about you," he says, "it's hard to stop myself."

"The fuck am I supposed to say to that?" Will grumbles, and Hannibal tips his chin up to kiss him, long and loving but not very dirty.

"Nothing is required, darling boy."

"Okay," Will whispers, and just rests where he is for a long time.


End file.
